There was a knock at the door. With one boot on and one off, I rose carefully, clumped over, and opened it, only to see the careworn face of someone who could only be my father. You might be puzzled why I described him in that vague way. I last saw my father nearly eleven years before, when I returned home for my grandfather’s funeral. Even then, I only saw him at a distance. Before that, it was eight years since I last laid eyes on him, right before I was sent away. He didn’t see me off, either. My grandfather did.

Majors and Minors, I’m not making this less confusing, am I? Here’s the thing: I’m a bastard. Not in that way—most people think I’m a decent enough fellow—in the other way. My grandfather was Earl of the Eastern March in the kingdom of Aquileia. A few years before he married, my father had a liaison with one of the household maids. I was the product of that liaison. When my father took on the duties of the earldom, he married a different woman—my stepmother—and my mother was sent far away.

Grandfather insisted I stay in the household until Victoria, my father’s wife, produced male heirs. That took longer than expected. Victoria tolerated my presence with icy civility—on a good day. On a normal day, she pretended I didn’t exist. She played that she didn’t see me and would talk as though I were not present. On a bad day, she would mutter curses at me or cuff me on the head if I strayed too close. She certainly never displayed any sort of maternal affection. In general, we avoided one another. I felt distinctly uncomfortable in her presence, and our encounters were never pleasant.

My father no longer had much time for me either, busy with the affairs of the March and away three weeks out of four from the time he married. Any time he spent with me while he was home incurred the wrath of my stepmother. I learned recently from the father of my betrothed that Victoria treated my father little better than she treated me. My future father-in-law described her as a shrew and claimed my father’s frequent absence from the house was due to her presence in it.

My grandfather raised me, and everything I am I owe to him. He died eight years after I was sent away to boarding school. By then, I was serving in the Rangers—soldiers who protect the Western March (the western border of our country) from the neighboring Rhetian Empire. I was in my third year with the Rangers and was already promoted to captain.

In his will, my grandfather left me a small annuity, providing an income of one hundred ducats a year. He also left me his sword, which I still carry. It is a finer blade than any I have seen, before or since. A rapier with a blade of nine parts and a swept hilt, it is a masterpiece of the swordsmith’s art. The annuity was enough to live on if I chose to live a quiet, frugal existence in the country. I valued the sword more.

After I served in the Rangers seven years, I realized that promotion to the next rank was dependent on either purchasing a commission for a higher rank or having an influential friend in the royal court. I certainly did not have the kind of money it would cost to obtain a higher rank, nor any powerful friends who could assist me. Realizing I could not progress further, I did not renew my captain’s commission when it came up and left the Rangers.

With my discharge pay, I headed to the capital, also named Aquileia. I set about trying to determine what sort of career I should pursue. My career found me instead.

Freddy, a friend from school days, learned I was in the city and approached me. He asked for my help in retrieving a family ring. Freddy, also known as Lord Rawlinsford, had offered the ring as a guarantee of payment when he lost a high-stakes game of cards. When he showed up the next day to settle his debt, the man would not return the ring unless Freddy paid ten times the amount owed. During the game, Freddy sensed his opponent was cheating. When his opponent made his exorbitant demand, Freddy was now convinced.

From our time at school, Freddy remembered that I rarely lost at cards. He enlisted my assistance to expose the cheat and get his ring back. He offered to supply me with funds with which to play and further promised half of the original amount of the bet for which the ring was given as surety. The bet he lost was ten thousand ducats.

I was successful in accomplishing the return of the ring and in exposing the man as a cheat. In the process, I increased substantially the initial amount Freddy had given me as stake money. Freddy gave me five thousand ducats for the ring, and I kept my winnings as well. With nearly ten thousand ducats to my name now, I was in a solid financial position for at least the next several years.

Freddy then referred two other people to me who also lost valuable items to criminals. I helped get them back in return for half the value. The people I aided referred others to me. My business, if you could call it that, was infrequent but extremely profitable. There wasn’t a steady stream of people seeking my help. There was one spell of fourteen months between, well, I suppose you could call them, clients.

My most recent adventure came only six weeks after I wrapped up the previous one. I succeeded and nearly doubled my net worth, making it the most lucrative task I accomplished. The two challenges I took on most recently also proved to be the most dangerous. The most recent ended with a savage beating—received, not administered, sadly—and I was still feeling the effects. I just returned to my rooms above the bookseller’s shop the day before. In the midst of finishing getting dressed the next morning came the knock on the door.

Even though I had not seen him in so long, I recognized my own father. After all, he had a version of the same face I viewed in the mirror every day. He looked much older than I remembered. The lines on his face were deeper, and there were more of them. His hair was now gray. Not that I appeared at my best. I still had two black eyes, and the middle of my nose was still swollen from where it was broken. The rest of the swelling on my face was diminished, but I still did not look like my usual handsome self.

I was mildly surprised to see him. From a meeting with the king a few days before (where King Mark spoke and I listened), I knew the king was summoning my father to a meeting to discuss the Eastern March. The king was concerned that neither of my half brothers seemed capable of maintaining defense of the border. His Majesty was also disturbed that my father’s finances were in poor condition. From what I heard from my betrothed’s father, this was due to my stepmother indulging in every luxury she and my half brothers desired.

The Eastern March was not a lucrative territory to hold. A great deal of the income from tenant rents needed to pay for the defense of the territory against the horse nomads who appeared sporadically from far across the eastern grasslands. My future father-in-law also informed me he heard that my father reduced the number of armsmen he employed due to my stepmother’s spending.

In my meeting with the king, His Majesty told me he would give my half brothers six months to prove themselves capable of holding the Eastern March. The king did not expect they would rise to the occasion. If that held true, the king would declare someone else as my father’s successor. It might be me.

In recent months, I came to the king’s attention (in a previous adventure) and made the kind of impression where he was now considering making me my father’s successor. Given my illegitimate birth, that might cause upheaval in the social structure of Aquileia. The king could avoid that by naming a non-family member to succeed my father, so I wasn’t going to get my hopes up. Still, it was nice to be considered.

So, I knew my father would be in the city. For all I knew, he might have visited the city any number of times since I moved there. He never sought me out before. I did not expect him to do so this time, which is why I was somewhat surprised to see him.

I was standing in the open doorway with one boot on. I was just about to ask my father in when he muttered, “This was a bad idea.”

He turned on his heel and skittered swiftly down the stairs and through the door to the outside. I followed him down as quickly as I could. I wasn’t going to run into the slushy streets with only one boot on. Hollering after him wasn’t an attractive idea as the market square on which I lived was full of people. He didn’t run away but disappeared quickly into the crowd nonetheless.

Well, I thought, that was unexpected and strange. I returned upstairs to put on my other boot. Once I had it on, I sat and pondered what just happened. I wondered whether his meeting with the king already took place. I guessed it did, and that is what prompted him to come find me.

Without any better ideas, I decided to head over to see Lucy. In the short time since we met (not quite four months), I’d come to rely on her advice and insight. As you might have guessed from my earlier depiction of my life, I was accustomed to a somewhat solitary existence. That Lucy drew so close to me so quickly actually troubled me for a time.

The sky was a heavy, gray overcast, hanging low. The temperature could bring either rain or snow. I decided to take my oilskin and not my winter cloak. I figured I wouldn’t be out in the weather long enough to worry about the cold.

I trudged in the direction of Lucy’s shop. While I walked, I kept an eye open for my father. Silly, I suppose. I guessed father came to the city at least once a year and probably more often than that. In the nearly seven years I lived in the city, this morning was the first I’d seen of him.

My route to Lucy’s took me past one of the bigger temples in the city. A few days earlier, before I was so thoroughly beaten, I thought to call on one of the priests. When I first met her, Lucy told me she could see my aura, and it indicated I had some supernatural affinities. I hoped a priest would help me figure out what affinities I possessed. Lucy wouldn’t tell me. She said it was for each person to figure out on his or her own.

According to her, there were many people wandering around with affinities for one or more of the Minor Gods. Most had no idea, and their affinities remained just that, affinities. A few of those people had awoken those affinities and learned how to make some use of them. At this point, they were no longer described as affinities but as abilities.

Lucy, my betrothed and beloved, was blessed with supernatural powers—abilities. If she lived in the countryside, her neighbors would have accepted that she was a witch. Here in the city, people like to think they are more sophisticated—too intelligent and worldly to believe in the old ways. They say there aren’t such things as witches. Yet Lucy owns an herb shop and does good business selling her salves and potions. Often what city folk say is at odds with how they act.

Returning to Lucy’s comment about my having previously unknown affinities—in the last few months, I fought for my life twice. Both my opponents were skilled, and I entered each conflict at a physical disadvantage. My body had responded in an unaccustomed way. In each encounter, I felt a surge of energy. It was not the shooting star of adrenalin. In fact, it occurred as I felt the adrenalin wear off. It was more of a tidal flow of strength. After both duels, I was exhausted—sleeping around the clock several days in a row. My wounds also healed more quickly than I remembered. This, too, seemed to bring tremendous fatigue. Along with the fatigue came appetite. I ate ravenously when I wasn’t sleeping. On cue, my stomach rumbled to remind me I did not eat breakfast.

I told my stomach to wait and entered the temple, then took a seat on one of the granite benches. It was, as it turned out, Soliday—the day we Aquileians set aside for quiet contemplation. The huge temple was not crowded, but there were well over a hundred people scattered around. I spent some time considering all that happened to me recently, especially my father’s strange aborted visit. When I felt my concentration slipping away, I looked for a priest.

There were several, standing in their robes and strange headdresses unobtrusively in different areas. I rose and went to the nearest—a middle-aged man. I leaned in close and asked in a whisper if I could speak with him privately. He led me along the wall to a small alcove with three doors. He opened the door to the left, and there was a small sitting room.

“What brings you here, friend?” he asked.

I explained, as best I could, what I wanted to learn. The priest listened attentively. He interrupted my narrative twice to ask clarifying questions. When I finished, he waited briefly before speaking.

“Are you a believer in the old ways, then?”

“If you asked me that question six months ago, I would have answered that I was not a disbeliever,” I said. “But what I’ve seen since then has done a great deal to convince me.”

“It is good that you kept yourself open to possibilities,” the priest commented. “As far as the knowledge you seek, I am not gifted with any ability. Few priests of the Majors are. That means I cannot give you a simple answer to your question. How committed are you to learning about yourself?”

I paused and considered. Was it mere curiosity, or was I going to exploit any ability I discovered? To this point, my suspicions were that I had some affinity with Bellona, the goddess of war, and possibly Eir, the goddess of health. In my “business,” the last two undertakings led to deadly violence. Plus, the king might name me as successor to my father. In both circumstances, being able to make use of the ability associated with Bellona would be an asset. In addition, Lucy and I planned to marry. I had seen glimpses of her abilities. As her future husband, I wanted to know more about my own—if I indeed possessed any affinities and could awaken them.

“I am committed to learning about myself,” I responded finally.

The priest nodded. “Thank you for a thoughtful answer,” he replied. “As I said, few priests of the Major Gods have the type of ability that will help you. The priests of the Minor Gods are different. I suggest you go to the shrines of the Minors—make a pilgrimage. Begin with the ones with which you believe you have affinity. That will teach you the most about yourself in the shortest time.”

I left the temple and continued to Lucy’s shop. Her rooms were above it. I knocked, but there was no answer. I had no idea where she was and didn’t feel like tracking her down. Quiet solitude in a comfortable chair in my rooms seemed like the best idea. I returned, lit a fire in the hearth, and hung a kettle to boil. When it whistled, I made tea, then sat with my thoughts.

Every city and town of a certain size had a temple to the Three Major Gods. In the whole country of Aquileia, there is only one temple devoted to each of the Minor Gods. These are scattered around the whole country, each in a different location.

Of the two I was considering, the Temple of Bellona was the least difficult to reach at this mid-winter time of year. It is located near the northern edge of Aquileia’s western border and would be about fifteen days on horseback in good weather. Bad weather would slow me down. It would be a difficult journey, especially the last few days, but it shouldn’t be too dangerous unless a killing blizzard swept in and caught me in the open. When I was in the Rangers, some of the soldiers used their leave time to make the journey to her shrine. From what I remembered hearing, there was a narrow track through the forest that led to the temple.

The Temple of Eir would be impossible to reach right now. It is due north, near where the line of perpetual snow falls. It would take at least three weeks to ride there, with the last week or more spent in open country, past where human settlement stopped. There were no roads. A traveler needed to use the stars to guide himself or trust that he could find the track of another pilgrim.

Eventually, hunger broke my concentration. My tea was long since cold. I roused myself and went outside, heading to the Foaming Boar. Carl Stensland, a former sergeant in the Rangers owned it, and I was a frequent visitor.

Since I was out that morning, the weather changed. A cold heavy mist moved in—thicker than fog but lighter than rain. The temperature was on the cusp of freezing, so the mist wanted to be snow but couldn’t quite achieve it. Miserable weather, to be sure.

They were serving tomato soup and fresh bread at the inn. While I was waiting for my food, I thought about my possible journeys. It occurred to me that I would probably need to buy a horse. No livery stable would allow a traveler to take one of their mounts on trips that long since the potential for loss was too great. Horses were expensive to buy and expensive to maintain, especially here in the city. I wondered if Lucy’s father might lend me one. I really didn’t want to buy a horse if I continued to live in the city.

Shortly after the girl brought my soup, Carl slid into the seat across from me. “You don’t look so good, Cap’n,” he commented upon seeing my bruised and swollen face.

“I’ve been better, Sar’nt,” I admitted.

A thought occurred to me. Carl owned a horse—a fine, well-trained mount at that. “Would you be willing to lend Andy to me? I find myself needing to go to the Temple of Bellona.”

A pained expression crossed Carl’s face. Before he spoke, I held up my hand to stop him. “I didn’t think so. It’s too far. Forget I asked.”

“Begging your pardon, Cap’n,” Carl said after a small delay. “You seem to be a man of means. Why don’t you own a horse already?”

“Maybe I’m a man of means because I don’t own a horse,” I cracked.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Carl agreed with a small chuckle. “I’d never be able to keep Andy if I didn’t have the stable out back as part of the inn. How did you get so banged up, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was the final conclusion of our recent business,” I said with a wry smile. Carl had come to Newcastle and helped in my last adventure.

“So Parkinson’s boss caught up with you?” Carl asked.

I nodded.

“What happened to him?” he inquired.

“Palace of Justice,” I replied.

“What do you think will happen?” Carl asked.

“Ordinarily, I’d say, not much. In this case, enough titled people were involved that he’ll probably be put away for a few years.”

I returned to my rooms after I finished eating. After restoking the fire and reheating the kettle, I was about to settle in for a long think. The door opened, and Lucy entered.

I met Lucy not quite four months ago. She was Freddy’s cousin and the daughter of the Duke of Gulick. That made her a “lady”—in her case, “Lady Darling.” Darling was a small hamlet in her father’s holdings. Lucy hated using the name, thinking it was too cute, so Freddy and I teased her about it regularly. Her father gave me permission to court her and recently to marry her. Lucy was tall and slender, with long blonde hair that wanted to curl and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. For me, she was the loveliest woman on the planet.

She came over and gave me a brief kiss on the lips, then went into my small kitchen for a teacup. She poured hot water from the kettle and retreated back into the kitchen to prepare her tea. When she returned a minute later, she sat in the chair nearest mine and regarded me. She held her teacup in one hand and her chin in the other, resting her elbow on her knee.

She didn’t say anything. Finally, I asked, “What?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “You seem to be in a contemplative mood. I thought I’d join you.”

“But you’re just staring at me,” I protested.

“I’m contemplating you,” she said. “Your face looks better. I can tell you have a lot on your mind. I’m wondering whether you are worrying about new things or old things.”

“Both, I suppose.”

“What old things are bothering you?” she asked.

“The oldest,” I replied. “My father stopped by this morning.”

“Really?” Lucy said, arching her eyebrows in surprise.

“He didn’t stay. I opened the door and saw him. He muttered, ‘This was a bad idea’ and disappeared. I couldn’t follow him because I wasn’t completely dressed yet.”

“Oh my!” she breathed. “I can see how that would put you in a mood. Do you know whether he’s met with the king yet?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I suspect he has. Since I’ve been living in the city, he’s probably had more than a dozen opportunities to seek me out but never has until now.”

“And, of course, that made you think about the Eastern March,” she said. “Is that the new thing that’s bothering you?”

“No,” I answered. “I’ve thought about it plenty and come to believe that it might be easier for the king to choose a non-family member to take the earldom. Doing so reinforces his power as the liege lord of Aquileia and avoids the social unrest he would cause by naming an illegitimate son as my father’s heir. If I were to place a bet on the outcome, I wouldn’t bet on myself in this case. In either event, it is his decision, not mine. There is little I can do about it.”

“I would disagree with you on your first two points,” she said, “but think it is wise of you not to waste energy worrying about it. What else is troubling you, then?”

“Early on, after we met, you told me you sensed I have affinities. I felt nothing before meeting you, but since then some strange things have taken place. It is as though any ability I possess was sleeping, and my continued contact with you woke it, or them. You’ve told me that I must discover for myself what those affinities are. I went to the temple today and asked a priest for advice.”

Lucy gave her head a slight lift, indicating I should continue.

“He counseled me to make pilgrimages to the shrines of the Minor God or Gods for whom I thought I had affinity. He told me those priests could help me. So, I think I will travel to Bellona’s shrine soon. I will need to wait at least three months before setting out to visit Eir’s shrine.”

Lucy’s face lit up with a grin, and her eyes twinkled. Her reaction puzzled me slightly. Why would this make her happy? I wondered.

“Did we just pass another hinge point?” I asked.

She nodded vigorously. For those of you who are new to my stories, Lucy has a limited ability to see the future. These visions come to her in her sleep or in daydreams. The future she sees begins with what she calls a hinge point. If what she has seen at the hinge point happens, then the vision plays out as she envisioned. If the hinge point doesn’t match what she saw, then that future does not unfold.

“The last two times we’ve encountered them, you jumped on top of me and smothered me with kisses. Why not now?” I asked, pretending to pout.

“Because the last two times, the hinge points involved both of us and were about our relationship. This one is all about you and your self-discovery. I’ll jump on top of you and smother you with kisses later, maybe—if you behave. Other than my observation, what has convinced you that you have some affinity?”

I described to her, in greater detail than before, the well-spring of strength I experienced during my fights with Wim and Nils Pedersen. For those of you who have not read my earlier tales, Wim was the younger of the two royal princes. He concocted a plan that would end in his brother’s disgrace and force the king to change the order of succession. His plan was devilishly clever and would have also resulted in me being the person publicly blamed for the scandal. When I thwarted his scheme, he kidnapped Lucy to draw me out of the city and kill me in revenge for spoiling his plans. He and I fought, and I killed him. In the midst of that fight, I felt a surge of energy. It was not the nerve-jangling rush of adrenalin. It came when my adrenalin was wearing off. It felt as though a well of power and strength was overflowing within me. Later, in my more recent adventures, I felt that same flow of strength twice more. Once, when I fought a man we knew as Daniel Parkinson, who worked for Pedersen. The second time was after I was captured and beaten by Pedersen.

Then I spoke about my quickness in healing from the different injuries I sustained in recent months. While I acknowledged that Lucy and her ability with Eir undoubtedly was a positive influence in helping me heal, that didn’t explain all of it, and certainly, the accompanying fatigue and appetite were curious.

She nodded in understanding. “Is anything else troubling you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I need a horse. Do you think your father would lend me one? Both journeys will be long and difficult.”

“All the more reason he probably won’t,” she said. “Why don’t you buy one?”

I sighed. “Lots of reasons. Horses are expensive to buy and expensive to keep,” I replied, ticking off my reasons with my fingers. “If I bought one, I would need to train it. That takes a lot of care and time.”

Lucy started to say something, but I held my hand up to stop her. “If I had a horse, I would feel guilty if I didn’t spend time with it every day—owning an animal like a horse brings with it an emotional obligation. I don’t have need for a horse every day, so I would need to schedule time to spend with it.”

“Majors and Minors!” she gasped in mock horror. “How you must resent the obligation to spend time with me!”

My head shot up. I was horrified to hear her say that, even in jest. I certainly hadn’t meant it that way.

“Lucy, that’s not what I meant,” I spluttered.

“I know,” she said. “I’m teasing. But I wanted you to hear the ridiculousness of what you just said. Plus, if you become Earl of the March, you’ll need a horse,” Lucy countered.

“I’m not the earl yet, and chances are I won’t be,” I stated. “And if, by some set of miracles I do become earl, that will be different. Having a horse will be a necessity, and I would likely spend time with it every day in fulfilling my regular duties. Right now, it’s more of a luxury.”

“Right now,” she countered, “you need a horse for two long and difficult journeys. You should probably complete both before we marry. If you do, in the time before our wedding you’ll spend more time on horseback than you will with me. That makes owning a horse more of a practicality and less of a luxury. Besides, if you buy a horse, I can ride him, too, when you’re in the city. I miss riding. Where will you keep him?”

“It’s a him, is it?” I asked. “What if I buy a mare?”

She waved my question off as though it didn’t matter. “Where will you keep him?”

“I’m not buying a horse,” I repeated.

She waved her hand in dismissal again.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” I said. “I suppose I would ask Carl if I could keep it in his stable behind the inn.”

She nodded her understanding. “What do you think your father wanted?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t know. His letter from a month ago was certainly melancholy, and your father gave me some idea why he might feel that way, but his leaving so abruptly this morning puzzles me.”

“I recall Da saying your father was ‘stiff as a board’ and that he would likely never apologize to you for how he treated you,” Lucy commented.

“That might explain him running away,” I allowed. “I don’t know that I need or want an apology, though.”

“Perhaps he wanted to meet the man you’ve become,” Lucy suggested.

“I would welcome that,” I admitted.

“He doesn’t know that, though,” she stated. “Poor man.”

Lucy got up to make herself another cup of tea. When she returned, she sat in my lap. Not long after that, she did indeed smother me with kisses. I must have been well-behaved earlier. I wasn’t then.